


Your Small Wishes of a Thousand Cranes

by vaguesalvation



Series: People Error [3]
Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation/pseuds/vaguesalvation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are millions of tiny mistakes to be made in his new life, but they all seemed infinitesimal in comparison to the music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Small Wishes of a Thousand Cranes

**Author's Note:**

> The third part of People Error to be written, but the first chronologically.

It only ever happened the one time, before there was even talk of a Yuu and a Yutaka and it was just the three of them, starting out from nothing--quite literally nothing on his part seeing as he'd been kicked out of his home. But things seemed bright; a light at the end of the tunnel and all those other clichés that are used to describe adolescent naiveté, borne of the absolute certainty that, were he to lead, the others would follow. He only had to choose their destination.

He had exactly 1500 Yen to his name, and the only clothes he had with him were those he'd been able to stuff into his backpack before leaving his parents house. His hair was a faded, washed-out blue, and he had more piercings in one ear than most girls had in both. He was accepted by few and that suited him just fine. He hadn't needed much social interaction before and the kind of attention he did attract was by no means unwanted.

He would later realize acceptance was exactly what he'd been looking for, but that would be many years down the road when he is more thorough in his self-analysis and more readily attentive to truth. Back then, though, back then it was all about making statements about independence and the importance of success, of reaching their goals, of making something of themselves.

They had been so, so young.

\--

The fluorescent lights in the convenience store made Takanori’s skin look green.

He stood in the aisle with the instant ramen and the fruity granola bars and wondered how much MSG he could ingest before his body decided to bring it back up for him. Probably a lot; he was young. He thought about using the money he’d grabbed before leaving home to buy some pocky and a bag of spicy potato chips.

“Can I help you?”

He turned, found the source of the voice to be a tall, lanky boy that was probably a few years older than him. Dark, frazzled and teeth that could rival any guradoru girl, Takanori decided the boy looked like a Hiro.

“I’m just waiting for a friend,” he said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his t-shirt were soft, worn.

Hiro seemed to debate with himself, eyes squinting and lips pulled into a grimace. “Well, you can’t just stay here. You have to buy something. I can’t… I can’t just let you stay here.”

Taka fought the urge to roll his eyes and bit his lip to keep from saying something he would inevitably regret later. His eyes darted around the aisle again before settling on the row that held the trail mix. He plucked a bag from the shelf, the cellophane crunching between his fingers, and showed the front of the bag to the clerk.

Hiro sighed heavily. “Just… pay for those before you leave.”

He nodded and watched Hiro turn to go back to the register. He tossed the trail mix back onto the shelf and shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone and flipping the small device open.

No missed calls or messages showed on the backlit screen. It had been almost three hours since he’d left home and still no one had tried to contact him. He wasn’t expecting much, but he hadn’t expected nothing. It only solidified his father’s words. He wondered if he’d ever be welcomed back.

Not that it mattered. He didn’t plan on going back anyway.

The bell above the doors chimed and he looked up in time to see someone slipping inside the store. The sound of the rain hitting the pavement outside grew louder before silencing again when the glass slid back into place.

It was easy to recognize Tetsuya, with his bleached hair and his Nintendo zip hoodie, walking past the front aisles to get to Takanori. Dark eyes lifted to lock with Taka’s and Tetsuya smiled brightly. The blonde’s face was wet from the rain and the familiarity made Takanori’s chest burn.

“Took you long enough,” he said when Tetsuya was within earshot, mock irritation present in his voice.

Tetsuya laughed. “My mom said I had to do the dishes before I left, so fuck you, alright?”

“Maybe later.” He shrugged.

The blonde laughed again, and moved around him toward the back of the store, where the slushie machine was located. Taka swore, for someone who claimed to have such an aversion to sweets, Tetsuya drank a lot of slushies.

“So, what’s up?” Tetsuya asked, reaching up to grab the biggest of the plastic cups before filling it to the brim with red slush. Taka knew the other boy liked the blue better, but had been catering to Taka’s abnormal love for artificial cherry flavoring for years now.

Leaning against one of the doors of the freezer, Takanori sighed and answered Tetsuya’s question with a noncommittal hum and a shrug.

The older boy’s eyes narrowed and he nodded toward the canvas bag slung over Taka’s shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”

“It’s just clothes and stuff. Some of my notebooks. Stuff I’m going to need later.”

“Wow, big plans for the city.” Tetsuya took a sip of the slushie. When he smiled his teeth were stained red. Takanori shrugged and the blonde shifted his weight to one hip. “Seriously though, out of all the shit you could’ve grabbed before you left, just clothes, some notebooks? I know for a fact that you own a shit-ton more than that.”

That was true, but Taka had limited rightful claim to the things he called his own at his parent’s house. So he’d left most of his possessions of any monetary value back in his room, as a reminder of sorts, that he didn’t need his parents. He didn’t need them to care for him anymore and he definitely didn’t need their money. It was immature, he knew and felt that in the deepest parts of himself, but he didn’t care. Taka was nothing if not self-aware, but there were some things about himself that he just refused to change.

“Did you get the ticket?” he asked, trying to shake the memories of the last few moments in his home from his mind.

Tetsuya hummed and nodded frantically, digging his hand into his jeans pocket and pulling out a slightly rumpled train ticket. He handed it to Taka and took another sip of slushie.

“I just can’t believe you’re actually doing it, you know?” the other boy said, “I mean, sure you’d talked about it, but. I don’t know. I figured it was just talk.”

He shrugged. It might have been just talk to any number of teenagers with dreams of making it big in Tokyo. But for Taka, it wasn’t just a dream; it was a promise he’d made to himself.

He squeezed the ticket between his fingers, felt the warmth of Tetsuya’s skin in the paper. There wasn’t much he’d miss about his hometown, but some things he knew he couldn’t replace.

“Thanks for this,” he said and Tetsuya looked up at him through inky lashes, confused.

“It’s no problem, man. S’what I do.”

He nodded and pocketed the ticket. Then he smiled ruefully.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight to one hip, “don’t we have a Tekken score to settle before I leave?”

\--

Having lived in Yokohama most of his life, Taka had spent a lot of time in the train station in Shibuya. He was used to tall buildings with floor to ceiling windows, to bright neon lights that never went out, to signs and lists and noise.

Mostly, Taka was accustomed to people surrounding him from all directions. He liked the city if only for its inhabitants. He liked the fact that he could walk along the same street that a hundred people, over time a million people, have walked and it still seemed to feel new, fresh and exciting.

He liked the feeling of being alone in a crowd, of surrounding himself with the lives of so many people it was difficult to distinguish where one life ended and another began. It was all a blur of noises and scents and fleeting presences and his skin seemed to stick out even more against the backdrop of haze. There was a barrier between himself and the rest of the world and it consisted only of real knowledge, knowledge of his past, of his dreams for the future. These people knew nothing of him, not really, and he knew nothing of them. They coexisted so well in this city because of that.

The hostel was a few blocks away from the station and the tempura shop where he worked as a bus boy was a few streets in the opposite direction. He spent most of his time in this area, crossing back and forth. His shifts at the tempura shop were long and strenuous, from three in the afternoon to midnight when the store closed, Monday through Friday.

He got weekends and mornings to sleep, but he didn’t usually do much of that. He spent mornings at the station, watching the people and writing in the journal he’d bought himself before he’d left home. Weekends were dedicated to lives, to dark clubs that smelled of cigarettes, alcohol and stage equipment. To scoping out possible bandmates and tuning out music that was less than mediocre. To going home alone and disappointed and sore, only to return to the tentative routine his life had become.

 

\--

 

“Mastumoto-kun, please, I’m not paying you to sit around and talk to pretty girls.” Haruko said, shoving a serving tray into his outstretched arms as she walked back to the doors that led to the kitchen. He balked under the weight, catching the side of the tray just before two unfortunately-placed glass plates tumbled over the side and onto the slick linoleum floor.

He sighed in relief and repositioned the tray in his hands. He smiled at the two girls he’d been talking to before, knowing that his face was red with embarrassment.

“Sorry, ladies,” he said, “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“It was nice talking to you, Takanori-kun,” one girl said. Her name was Natsumaki Kiyoko and she’d been in the year ahead of him at the private school in Yokohama. Her hair was dyed a natural light brown and she wore a lot of make-up. She tapped perfect, manicured fingernails against the tabletop and smiled an expensive, whitened smile as she waited with her friend from school for the food she planned to take back to her university apartment. She was everything he loved and hated about the money that came out of the business district of Yokohama.

“You too,” he replied, heading back toward the kitchen, “stop by again when I have more time.”

He pushed his way through the swinging doors and the few other workers in the kitchen to get to the sink. He set the tray and its contents on the counter and plunged his hands into the steaming water to get to the dishes soaking at the bottom.

He promptly wished he hadn’t.

Hissing, holding back curses that threatened to rip from his throat, he pulled his hands back out. His eyes closed tight and he gritted his teeth through the pain as his skin throbbed and burned.

“Haha, sorry, kid,” he heard a voice behind him say, “I tried to warn you, but you flew in here so quick.”

He rounded on Tomo, glaring. “Why is the water so hot?”

The older man shrugged. “I had some grease that I couldn’t get out of a pan, so I was letting it soak.”

“That’s my job,” he didn’t take his eyes off Tomo, but the other hardly seemed fazed, “Why didn’t you let me take care of it?”

Tomo laughed. “Well, you weren’t really doing your job trying to hook up with that slut in the dining room, were you?”

Taka didn’t think it was worth getting in trouble with Haruko to tell Tomo, in not quite pleasant terms, that he, in fact, wasn’t trying to “hook up” with anyone and if Tomo so pleased, the other man could go die in a horrific train accident. Tempting, but not worth the trouble.

“Whatever,” he said instead, rolling his eyes and turning back to the sink. He looked down at his hands. The skin was only slightly red now, and didn’t hurt all that bad really. He probably wouldn’t have even gotten hurt in the first place had he submerged his hands slower.

The rest of his shift went on frustratingly slow and monotonous. He managed to spill only half a tray of tea cups in front of close to twenty-five people, but Haruko had sent him out back for a smoke to calm down before he really broke down and started crying like he had his second week in. When he came back in, the mess was cleaned up, but Momo, an older woman who had been serving for nearly seventeen years, whispered condescendingly to her coworkers whenever she knew he could hear her.

Haruko had asked him what was wrong, but he’d only shaken his head, told her everything was fine, he was just tired, that he’d try to go to bed earlier that night. She’d dismissed the issue easily enough. It wasn’t as if Taka had lied. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. Someone had pulled the fire alarm that morning and after it was clear that there was no immediate danger, Taka had already been awake long enough that he couldn’t have possibly gone back to sleep.

He walked home from the shop alone, with his bag slung over his right shoulder and a cigarette in his left hand. He passed people wordlessly and they left him to his thoughts and his nicotine. It was cold out and he’d left his jacket at the hostel that morning. He shivered and his teeth chattered and he wished spring would come sooner. He didn’t think much would change, but his life could only be better if he wasn’t cold all the time. He didn’t have the money for a proper heavy coat. He hardly had money to eat and sleep under a roof.

This was not what he’d thought his life would become when he’d laid awake in his house in Kanagawa. He’d dreamt of something more, he’d dreamt of freedom and understanding. This wasn’t freedom, and the only thing he better understood was appreciation for the necessities of living.

This was getting by, day to day, because he was too stubborn to admit he’d made a mistake, too independent to admit that he needed someone, anyone, to help him.

He hadn’t been part of a band in almost a month and the desire to play, to throw his frustration into something he could physically hear and feel, was overwhelming. It ate away at him slowly and he woke each morning with more holes, emptier than before.

He thought about stopping at the station, about writing, all dark metaphors and sick symbolism. But exhaustion made his vision hazy and his movements sluggish. So he turned into the doors of the hostel and stumbled over his own feet to get to his bed.

He left his bag on the floor.

-o-

Taka dreamed in black and white.

He didn’t know why he even knew this, only that when he woke up in the morning and the last remnants of his dream were trickling from his mind, the fleeting images were all in varying shades of gray.

He wondered what that could mean, that his subconscious was unable to produce color. Maybe it wasn’t unable; maybe it simply refused. He didn’t think they were normal, these dreams without color, without the vibrancy of life. He also didn’t think they were very healthy.

But he wasn’t exactly the poster boy for mental health, so he probably shouldn’t let it bother him.

He’d slept well the night before, was so exhausted from work and life that he’d fallen unceremoniously across his mattress and didn’t move the whole night. He shifted, cracked aching joints back into place, and sat up on his bed, careful not to hit his head on the bottom of the bunk above him.

He rubbed at his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair until he was satisfied it no longer appeared as if a child had chewed on it for hours. He’d fallen asleep in his work pants but his shirt was lying on the floor next to his bed. He almost pulled his phone out from under his pillow to check the time before he remembered it had been shut off a week ago, so he hadn't bothered to charge it. He cursed under his breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Under his bed, he kept the larger of his two bags. It held mostly anything he couldn’t carry in the small canvas bag he took back and forth to work with him. In one of the front pockets was his watch.

“Thank god it’s Saturday,” he mumbled to himself, voice scratchy and unused. It was already half-past four in the afternoon, and had this been a weekday, he would already be late for work.

He was just in time to check the local clubs to see who was playing that night.

He would have to do laundry again soon, he decided as he sifted through the contents in his bag again. The last time he’d gone to the laundromat down the street was almost two weeks ago and he’d been wearing dirty t-shirts for the past few days.

He pulled out a faded yellow t-shirt from the bottom of the bag and held it up to his nose. It didn’t smell dirty at least, so he threw it over his head and slipped his arms through the sleeves.

He slid the bag back under his bed and stood. His legs were rubbery from having stayed in the same position for so many hours and when he walked his ankle threatened to give out. He caught himself on the small table between his bunk and another. He was grateful no one was still around to see his near fall.

He grabbed his knit hat and the bag he’d left at the end of his bed last night before making his way down the long aisle to the doors that led outside. A lot of the bunks were empty now and he wondered how he’d been able to sleep through so many people packing their things and leaving. But he was so used to people coming in and out of the place, even if he had woken up, he would have thought nothing of it.

He slung the bag over his shoulder as he walked passed Risako, the hostel’s owner. She was a stout woman, with small features. She always wore elaborate kimonos and had her hair up in a tight bun that sat on the top of her head, secured with chopsticks. Takanori could only assume that the costumes were to impress the tourists that passed through, ignorant to the fact that there hadn’t been a geisha in Japan for some hundred years now.

Still, he supposed she was fun to look at.

Risako spotted him as he started to exit her small establishment. He was hoping he would be able to avoid talking to her until later in the day. She had a tendency to loosen up the longer she was awake. Still, she was bouncing toward him, looking less than amused at his presence.

“Why are you still here? Haven’t you gotten a life yet?” She stood on the tip of her toes in an attempt to get her face closer to his own. “You forgot to pay me for last night! Don’t think that because you're Japanese you get special treatment.”

“Sorry, Risako-san.”

Taka was afraid she was going to hit him. She had done that several times in the past. Mostly, it was when he forgot to pay for his night’s stay. He was very grateful to her; she had done more for him than most hostel owners would in this district. She even gave him a 200yen discount because he had been staying there for so long.

“I’m not letting you slide anymore. Other tenants will start to think I like you.”

“Yes, Risako-san.”

“I expect the money before midnight or I’m kicking you out. I’ve given you enough chances for fifty tenants.”

“I will, Risako-san.”

She hopped away without another word to greet a young American couple that had just walked in. Takanori rolled his eyes at her overly exaggerated English accent and walked out of the hostel just as she was offering a discount of 1,000 yen for the “special marry couple”. It made him laugh.

Foreigners were really stupid.

The sun’s harsh light hit him in the face as he emerged from the shaded alleyway. He had wished he had a pair of cool sunglasses, like the ones he saw Suigizo wearing during Luna Sea’s latest comment. He reminded himself that it probably wasn’t considered new anymore. He sometimes forgot it had been almost two months since he had left home, two months without being connected to the music industry outside the shit bands he heard weekend after weekend.

He was jarred back to reality when he almost ran into a larger woman walking her dog. She said something about youth being so inconsiderate and he felt like yelling some sort of obscenity at her, but ultimately decided against it. It was better not to give in to what people expected of him.

He was only vaguely aware of what he was doing. He had woken up later than he normally would, so he didn’t think he had time to go all the way to Ebisu to get his favorite Saturday ramen and still make it back before the local talent started. Every second he missed was a second that could lead him to his big break.

He remembered a barbeque place that he had heard Tomo talking about the other day with a customer. He hadn’t had something like that in a long time. It was close by. He guessed he could give it a try. He figured that, after yesterday, things couldn’t really get worse.

That, of course, was proven wrong in the few short minutes it took Takanori to snatch his tattered wallet out of his bag before purchasing his meal. He flopped it open inside of his hand, anticipating the large wad of bills that he had been saving. But instead of money, he found nothing but dark leather.

It was gone.

A week of savings. A week of hardly eating. A week of working harder than he ever had in his life. A week with little sleep and more frustration than he thought was possible.

Gone.

It was with some foreign asshole, who was probably halfway across the city by now.

Taka was beyond the point where he could feel anything. He was numb, his mind blank. He couldn’t think of anything to do but stand there in the middle of the sidewalk and stare at the ground.

He was stirred by an uncomfortable, swirling sensation in his stomach. He was so hungry. He contemplated walking past his tempura shop. He knew that if he begged enough, Haruko would eventually give him something to eat.

His pride won and he decided it would be better if he just went to the live house and loitered until the show started.

He needed something to take his mind off of how horrible his life was becoming.

 

-o-

 

His time in Tokyo hadn’t been completely fruitless. Over the weeks he’d gone to as many lives as his schedule—and his body’s requirement for sleep—would allow. He’d met people, a lot of people, and while he had never considered himself a sociable person, he had made a fair number of friends. Most of those friends were tied to music. The best thing about having friends tied to music was that he was hardly ever required to pay to see local bands.

He was exceptionally thankful for that fact tonight, as it at least gave him something to look forward to.

It was a small club, barely bigger than the basement in Tetsuya’s dad’s house in Yokohama, and there weren’t many people. The band was known well enough to have gathered a very small crowd, twenty, maybe thirty, teenagers with too much make-up and bad dye jobs. He felt both comfortable in this group of outcasts, and disgusted that he felt comfortable. Irony was a fundamental part of his life.

His stomach growled again. He had lost count of how many times he had to push away his hunger. It wasn’t like he had gone a day without food before. It wasn’t like he was going to die because he missed a meal.

It was better than admitting that he had failed.

The noise level in the small venue raised a few decibels as the featured band took their positions on stage. Taka had never actually seen the band, but he had heard that they were pretty good. Some of the rumors going around were that they had some sort of limited release EP coming up.

He hoped that he wasn’t disappointed; he wasn’t sure how much more of that he could handle in one day.

Taka started to make his way closer to the stage. He didn’t want to get too close; being pushed up against random people wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. But he did want to be close enough to be able to actually hear the music. The sound equipment in this place wasn't exactly top grade stuff.

Whenever he went to a show he tried too look for someone who was there for the same reasons he was, or at the very least, looked it. Once he found the individual he deemed the most interesting, he liked to be close to them. Just in case they were looking for a new band mate. Or knew someone who was.

When he took a moment to actually think about it, he did realize how pathetic his tactics could be.

He quickly scanned the occupants that hadn’t rushed to the front of the stage. Out of the five people he had to choose from, he was most intrigued by a taller, dark haired boy who stood to the far left side of the room. His arms were folded tightly in front of him and he studied the stage. The guy looked serious.

Takanori casually walked over, trying not to be too obvious. The boy didn’t seem to notice and the first song started to play.

After the first song, Takanori was surprised that the band had actually lived up to all of the hype. They weren’t by any means perfect, but they were the best band he had heard since arriving in Tokyo. And he had heard a lot of bands.

The guitarists worked well together and didn't overshadow the somewhat decent vocals. That was saying a lot, given the quality of the sound. He had a hard time hearing the bassist.

But none of them were comparative to the drummer.

As the song came to a close, he heard the boy beside him say something to himself.

“If I had a drummer that good, my life would be a hell of a lot easier.”

Takanori didn’t try to hide the fact that he'd heard him. The boy had to have wanted someone to hear. Even when people spoke as they thought, it wasn’t that loud. He looked over and smirked.

“You need a drummer?”

The boy cocked an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you any good?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Talk to me after the show.”

Takanori grinned as a wave of adrenaline rushed though him. It had been almost a month since he had someone to play with. The thought was enough for him to forget his recent misfortunes as he enjoyed the rest of the bands set.

 

-o-

 

The boy’s name was Takashima Kouyou.

He was a guitarist and had a place that was two train stops away from the hostel. He was tall and slim, with long dark hair and a square jaw. He walked slowly as a rule, and spoke in a deep voice. He told Taka he’d been looking for new members for his band, Karasu, for nearly four months. He was from Kanagawa as well.

They left the club together and Taka felt his stomach ignite with excitement with each passing minute. It had been so long since he’d had someone to talk music with. Even within the few moments the two of them had spoken, Taka could feel a connection. Kouyou was different, was better than the other’s he’d met before.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up yet though. He’d been disappointed too many times recently and he was apprehensive of when this little lucky streak was going to be over. He’d already had his share of fortune that night. It was time his life got back to its original despondency.

It came back to him in the form of a large black bag on the front steps of the hostel. For a moment, all Takanori could do was stand on the sidewalk and look up at his bag, too stunned to even speak.

“This your stop?” Kouyou asked, coming to stand next to him.

Taka scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. “Not anymore, it’s not.”

He climbed the stairs two at a time and knelt down next to his pack. He checked all the pockets to make sure Risako hadn’t left something in his bunk. He sighed heavily and slumped against the wall.

What was he going to do now?

“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the concrete step he was sitting on.

“Hey, what’s up? This your stuff?” Kouyou had followed him up the stairs and was leaning against the wall.

Taka could only nod. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t. He wanted to demand Risako let him stay one more night, but he couldn’t. He was too indebted to her to ask for favors now.

“I owe the owner money. She’s been letting me stay for free for the last week, but she told me if I didn’t pay her before midnight tonight I was out.” He explained. “I guess I didn’t expect her to follow through on her threat.”

Kouyou looked confused. “Can’t you just pay her now? It’s only half-past one.”

Taka almost laughed at the simplicity of the plan. He thought about just telling Kouyou that that was what he would do. Then he could wait for Kouyou to disappear around the corner of the street before making his way to another part of the city to find some place to sleep for the weekend.

“I can’t,” he said instead. “All my money was stolen last night.”

Kouyou turned to look down the street, a pained expression contorting his features. He sighed and scratched at the back of his head. “Well,” he said, “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I do have a couch you could use. It’s not ideal, but it’s free.”

Taka blinked stupidly for a moment. “Are… are you serious?”

Kouyou shrugged, like he offered his apartment to complete strangers all the time. “You’re not going to try and kill me in my sleep are you?”

At that, Takanori smiled and stood up again, wrapping a hand around his bag’s strap and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. If I’m going to kill you, I’ll make sure you’re awake.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Taka laughed again and followed Kouyou down the stairs. They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip to the train station.

-o-

“So, how old are you?” Kouyou asked as they stepped off the platform and ascended the stairs into a part of the city that Takanori was unfamiliar with.

“Eighteen.”

“How many bands have you been in since you moved here?”

“Don’t know. I was someone’s fill in for like five minutes while their real drummer went to shoot up, or something like that. I think that’s my favorite story.”

Kouyou laughed. He shoved his hands into this pockets and took out pack of cigarettes. He placed one between his lips before offering one to Takanori. Taka didn’t hesitate in grabbing it.

He inhaled deeply and felt his body relax.

Kouyou looked up at the sky as they walked. Taka wasn’t sure what the boy was looking at. It was impossible to see anything but a few clouds that were stained an ashy red because of the light pollution.

“So what’s your back up plan?” Kouyou asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

“You know, if the whole musician thing doesn’t work out. What will you do then?”

Takanori was taken aback. He’d never been asked that. “I guess… I guess I don’t really have one.”

Kouyou laughed and blew smoke into the air above their heads. It painted the air a thick grey for a moment before disappearing. “I didn’t at first either, but after a while, I figured it would be smart to at least think of something else I could do if this doesn’t work out.”

Taka threw his hands behind his head and yawned. “Well, if this doesn't work out, I'm pretty fucked. I didn’t even finish high school.”

Kouyou looked over, eyebrows raised slightly, probably from surprise. Taka was used to it. A lot of people had told him he was stupid for leaving school to chase an adolescent dream. He expected it now.

But Kouyou just looked back up at the sky and said, “Wow, you’re pretty serious.”

He was that serious about music. He’d known the minute his brother had let him listen to that old X tape that he wanted to be a musician. He wanted it bad enough that he was willing to move to the city without a diploma, to go without food, to sleep in the same room as four or five strangers every single night for weeks.

Music was his life, his fate.

Kouyou’s apartment wasn’t one Taka would say he dreamed of living in, but it was definitely a few steps up from a cheap hostel where he had to pay a nightly rent. It was simple. One bedroom, one bathroom, a living room and a small piece of linoleum with a hot plate and a microwave. There was a small television that sat on top of a personal-sized refrigerator and a hideously green couch that sat near the back of the main room. In front of it was a low resting table, adorned with several full ashtrays.

It wasn’t much, but he could tell that Kouyou and his roommate had worked hard for it. For that, his respect for the boy grew vast amounts.

A small grey lump that was lying on top of the couch shifted as they entered the room. Another boy, who looked younger than Taka, sat up and poked his head out from underneath the blanket. In the dark, his hair looked almost white, his clothes oversized.

“That's Akira,” Kouyou said, “He’s sick. That’s why he wasn’t with me tonight. He plays bass.”

Akira looked confused and when he spoke his voice was soft and strained. “Who are you?”

Before Taka could answer, Koyou grabbed onto his shoulder, jostling him slightly. Taka got the distinct impression that the boy wasn’t aware of how strong he was. “He’s going to be our new drummer.”

The blonde-haired boy nodded and put one of his unexposed thumbs in the air. The blanket tented over his hand where the appendage was sticking up. “Cool.”

He slumped back over on the couch and was asleep before Taka could really realize.

Kouyou spoke again from behind him. “I gave him some medicine to knock him out. It’s the only way to make him sleep when he’s sick.”

Takanori nodded and followed Kouyou into the kitchen area and sat down on one of the stools pressed against the wall. He felt strangely comfortable, almost like he hadn’t just followed a complete stranger back to a hole-in-the-wall apartment after meeting him in a hole-in-the-wall nightclub.

He supposed that’s what being a musician did to a person. “Too personal” took on a whole new meaning. Everyone was out for the same thing, and they were all willing to help each other out. Because ultimately, what was more important than the individual making it, was for the music to continue. Visual Kei was about going against the system, against what had been beat into their heads since they were kids. As long as their message was being passed on, in the end, it didn’t matter who was doing the passing.

They sat in silence for a moment, and while Taka could normally be considered a quiet person, he found himself wanting to fill it. “So, that band tonight. They were pretty decent. What was their name again?”

“Mareydi+Creia.”

“Jesus, who is coming up with names recently? They’re all fucking weird.”

Kouyou shrugged.

“So have you known…” Taka broke off, he felt strange calling the boy in the other room by his first name, but he didn’t know anything else to call him. He pointed in the direction of the couch, hoping that Kouyou would get his hint.

“Akira?”

“Yeah, have you known him for long?”

Kouyou nodded. “Since elementary. His last name is Suzuki, if you were wondering.”

The other boy laughed. “You know, you hear all the time about how common Suzuki is, but I’ve never known one.”

Kouyou didn’t respond. He pushed himself off of the counter and moved into the next room as he spoke. “I’m tired. I’ll move Aki so you can sleep on the couch.”

Taka watched as Kouyou gently shook the other awake just enough so that he could walk back to the bedroom. He wondered if the two were together romantically. He knew that it wasn’t likely; they had known each other for a long time. He imagined that after that long people sort of became like family members.

He envied such a feeling.  
\--

They were good. Better than good. They were perfect. Not so much in the literal sense, but compared to the other’s Taka had heard play over the past few weeks, Kouyou and Akira were exactly what he’d been looking for. They had talent, and really, that’s all Taka had been seeking for years.

Akira’s fingers were nimble and quick along the strings of his bass, and Kouyou’s guitar seemed to be an extension of his very arms. Taka considered the idea that his brain was exaggerating things for him to satiate insistent hope. But he didn’t much care now. They could play, they were good, and he was following them to their tiny, rented practice space where a drum kit would be set up and ready for him to use for his audition.

He’d been staying with them for almost a week now, sleeping on the ugly green couch in their living room. It had taken Akira nearly half that time to recover from his cold and so Taka hadn’t really gotten to know him yet, and Kouyou worked a lot. Much of the time, when he wasn’t at Haruko’s, he was left to his own devices. And that suited him just fine.

Kouyou and Akira were close, extremely so. That much became apparent quickly and for the first few days that he stayed with them, Taka almost convinced himself that his original assumption that they weren’t in a romantic relationship was wrong. However, on Wednesday night Kouyou went out with a pretty girl that worked with him at the grocery store and Akira had rolled his eyes and told Taka, “Don’t be surprised if he brings her back tonight. If that happens, I’m sleeping with you.”

He followed behind them on the sidewalk, silent, watching the surrounding buildings pass by. He tugged at one of the sleeves of the t-shirt he was wearing. It was one of Kouyou’s and hung loose on his shoulders. The older boy had let him borrow it because Taka still hadn’t had time to do laundry.

He was more grateful to the two who walked ahead of him than he could say with words. He’d offered to help pay their rent this month. Kouyou had laughed and said if he were still staying with them once the beginning of the month came up that they wouldn’t stop him, but until then to stop worrying about it. Taka hoped the older boy wasn’t just taking pity on him. He didn’t react well to pity. And he certainly didn’t need it from some boy who was still getting a monthly allowance from his parents. He hadn’t said that, but he’d started paying more attention to their conversations. It wasn’t difficult for him to recognize when people didn’t really want him around. He would wait until they grew impatient with him, and then leave.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of scuffling feet. He looked over to find that Akira had slowed down to walk next to him. Kouyou was still in front.

Akira was a small boy, taller than Taka but not as broad as Kouyou. His hair was dyed bright blonde and his lips were turned up at the corners. In a few years, Taka assumed, Akira would fill out more and his round face would get longer and more angled. Now, he was stuck between boy and man and appeared awkward at times. But in a few years, Akira would be gorgeous.

“Nervous?”

“Hmm?” he asked, confused.

Akira laughed. “We’ve been looking for a drummer for a long time. Kouyou’s pretty impatient. I’d be nervous.”

He hadn’t really thought about it until now. He’d just been so excited to be able to play again that the anticipation had overshadowed any anxiety. But now that Akira mentioned it, his stomach was a little unsettled.

“A little, I guess.”

Akira smiled. He was always smiling, Taka thought.

“I tried to play guitar when I was younger,” the other boy said, “couldn’t do it though. I didn’t pick up a bass until my junior year of high school, when Kouyou said he was really serious about making a band.”

“Why bass?”

Akira shrugged and his whole body seemed to move into the action. “I can’t move my feet and my arms at the same time so drums were out, and I don’t have a great voice, but…”

Taka nodded. “But you didn’t want Kouyou making a band without you.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re good though,” Taka said, and he marveled at how easy it seemed to compliment this boy, how easy it felt to talk with him.

“I’ve practiced a lot.” Akira played with the zipper of his hoodie. “You’ll be good too.”

It was Taka’s turn to laugh then. “Pretty confident in someone you don’t even know.”

The boy laughed again, and the sound was light, dancing around Taka. It made splashes of yellow and blue appear across Taka’s vision and he felt his muscles loosen considerably. He hadn’t even been aware he was tense.

“My mom has always said that I have the worst luck in finding friends. I’m attracted to people who are bad influences,” Akira explained, hands waving in the air, “She said one of these days I’m going to be unpleasantly surprised. It hasn’t hurt me yet though.”

Taka suddenly wished he could be so confident, but realism came only with the absence of blind faith in one’s own abilities.

“I hope you’re right, Suzuki-kun.”

Akira was smiling still when he said, “Call me Aki.”

 

-o-

He didn’t return to pay off his debt to Risako for almost three months after leaving the hostel. He didn’t know when he “officially” moved in with Aki and Kouyou, but after that first night, he’d just kept coming back, and they’d just kept accepting him. He was still working for Haruko and he still spent a lot of his time at the train station, watching the people and writing in his notebooks.

When he wasn’t working or writing, he was practicing. And some time between the end of Karasu and the formation of Ma’die Kusse, they’d had to find a new place to practice.

The new practice space was only a few blocks away from Risako’s hostel and he had to pass the old building every time he met up with the others. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about the old woman, but having to cross in front of her establishment nearly every day for two months reminded him that he still owed her a lot.

It was raining the day he decided he’d saved up enough to pay her back. And he walked from the station to the hostel under the cover of a clear umbrella. The raindrops clung to the plastic tight, refusing to loosen their hold. He thought it fitting, this show of determination to match his own.

He climbed the stone steps and swung open the glass door. A bell above him chimed to signal his arrival.

The small woman was wearing one of her usual, purple kimonos, her hair let down so that it hung past her shoulders. She was sifting through some paper work as he stepped closer to the small desk.

He eyes moved up so she could see who was approaching her. At first, her expression was hard to read, it was almost like she wasn’t looking at anything, but after a while her eyebrows crossed and she jumped up from her small seat.

“How dare you Matsumoto Takanori!” She walked around the desk and preceded to hit him with the small paper fan she kept in her sleeve.

Taka flinched. “Hey... Hey! I came to bring you your money.”

She lowered her fan and puffed her chest out. She reminded Taka of a bird that was trying to scare away some kind of enemy. When she spoke again her voice was calmer, but still had the same agitated ring. “You just think it’s okay to leave without any words and then just show up, out of the blue, three months later? Is it your goal to give to give and old woman a heart attack?”

Taka looked at her confused. He opened mouth to say something but she interrupted him.

“Now, I don’t care about that money. You keep it. The heavens know that you need it more than I do. But, I expect you to at least come in here once a week and let me know that you are okay. You understand?”

The boy looked at her, stunned. The Risako he knew would have never said anything that nice to her tenants, especially if they owed her as much money as he did.

“I… I don’t understand.”

She returned to her chair behind the desk and continued to shift through her mountain of paper work. “You don’t have to understand, boy. It’s just something we old folks do.”

While she didn’t look up from her desk as he tried to slide the small envelope of money across its surface, she did hit him until he revoked it. After another feeble attempt, Taka gave up and figured if she really didn’t want it, there was no sense in forcing her to take it.

He sighed, telling himself that he would just have to come back on a different occasion and try to give her the money, if he had it. Without another word, he walked out of the hostel, unaware of the faint smile spread across Risako’s face.

\--

Akira slept like the dead. That was, if the dead produced enough heat to keep a small room above boiling temperatures and clung to the nearest solid body like a perishing amoeba.

Taka lay on his back diagonally across the mattress on the floor of the apartment, Aki wrapped around him like a monkey. The older boy’s hair tickled the underside of his jaw. He looked up at the ceiling and tried not to think about how much he wanted to move his arm out from under the blonde’s head, simply because he didn’t want to wake Akira.

He shifted to his side, curling his legs up to his chest, facing the other boy. He watched the shadows move across Aki’s face as the bassist slept. Aki’s mouth was parted slightly and his eyes moved behind his closed lids. Sometimes, the boy would mumble short, nondescript words and the hand fisted in the front of Taka’s shirt would tighten.

Taka would smile and try not to laugh out loud. When he’d mentioned the odd habit to Akira once, the bassist had seemed embarrassed. Taka hadn’t told the other boy he found it slightly endearing, albeit a little annoying when he was trying to sleep.

He couldn’t remember when Akira had started sleeping out in the living room with him, just that one night he’d fallen asleep alone on the mattress he’d bought himself and the next morning had woken up with an arm wrapped around his waist and a face full of blonde hair.

There were worse things, he figured.

He lifted his hand and brushed some of Akira’s hair behind an ear. He would be lying if he said he didn’t like sleeping close to someone. He may not sleep as well as he would alone, but the comfort of another person, another body, beside him was something not easily faked. And he felt safe here, Aki pressed against him, in the dark and quiet while the city went on its business outside.

He was so warm.

Something moved behind him. He turned to see Kouyou walking through the door from his bedroom. The guitarist crossed the living room and went into the kitchen without turning any lights on. Taka heard the familiar sound of porcelain on the countertop and waited to hear the facet running. He did and he gently pried his arm out from under Aki’s head.

The bassist hardly stirred.

Taka made his way to the kitchen, flipping the switch on the wall to the small light over the sink. Kouyou didn’t seem startled when the light came on, so Taka figured the other boy must have heard him get up.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice quiet more because he was afraid to break the silence than because he thought Akira would wake up.

Kouyou grunted and tossed four little yellow tablets to the back of his throat. Taka watched him swallow them dry before he took a sip of water.

“You have to go in early tomorrow, don’t you?”

Kouyou groaned this time, lifting a hand to rub at his temples. “Life inherently blows.”

Taka hummed and sat on one of the kitchen chairs. Kouyou carried his water over to the table to join him. The silence pressed down around them like a tangible presence. Taka thought he heard his elbow creak when he scratched the back of his neck.

“I think…” Kouyou started, paused for a moment to search for his words, “I think I might get a second job.

Taka swallowed thickly. “But…”

He didn’t have to finish the statement; Kouyou knew what he was saying. If Kouyou took a second job then their practices would be cut, and they were already down to two hours every three days. They couldn’t afford to cut back even a little. They were hardly getting anything done as it was.

Kouyou sighed again. “It’s been a year and a half, Taka.”

“So!”

“So?” the guitarist’s eyes were incredulous, “So we’ve been spending that time playing shitty nightclubs for no pay and we just lost another vocalist yesterday. We can’t afford to keep lying to ourselves, Taka. It’s time we accept reality.”

Taka’s hands clenched into fists under the table and he had to keep from screaming at Kouyou. “This is my reality. Music is my life, Kouyou.”

The other boy’s whole body seemed to deflate. Kouyou slumped against the back of the chair and he nodded. “I just don’t know where to go from here. With Kei gone, I not only have to find a new vocalist, I have to find one that can write lyrics. Decent ones, preferably.”

Taka felt something in his chest tighten. He’d been meaning to bring this subject up for the past few weeks, since they’d started suspecting that Keisuke wanted to leave the band.

“I…” he took a deep breath before continuing, “I might be able to help with that.”

One of Kouyou’s eyebrows rose in question. Taka left the kitchen and came back with his bag. He pulled out the notebook he’d been taking with him to the train station and laid it in front of Kouyou on the table.

“They’re not amazing or anything,” he said nervously. “I mean, they’re just words, but I think I might be able to put them into some sort of order. If anything, they’re ideas we can use.”

Kouyou didn’t speak as he flipped to the last page in the notebook. The guitarist was silent as he read the words and Taka watched, fidgeting in his seat across the table.

He didn’t know what he expected Kouyou to say about the words. If he expected praise or criticism or both. But he knew what he didn’t expect.

He didn’t expect Kouyou to look up and say, “Can you sing?”

\--

It turned out he made a much better vocalist than he did a drummer.

\--

“Here, drink, sugar makes life less fuzzy,” Akira said one day at the apartment, shoving a large Styrofoam cup into his hands.

“What is it?” he asked, willing the lid on the cup to become transparent so he could see inside. Removing the lid completely seemed like too much work.

“Slushie,” the bassist sat on the couch beside him. “From the 7-eleven around the corner.”

He raised an eyebrow at the other boy. “What flavor?”

Aki smiled. “Cherry.”

“You are my favorite person on this planet,” he praised and sipped some slush through the thick straw.

He drank nearly half the slushie before handing it back to Aki, but the bassist didn’t complain.

He’d only been off work for twenty minutes but already he felt like he just wanted to sleep for the rest of the day and well into tomorrow. The television was on, but he wasn’t watching it. His limbs felt heavy.

He slumped down until his head was resting on Akira’s lap. One of the bassist’s hands instantly settled on top of his head, fingers carding through his hair. He sighed his approval and brought his legs up onto the couch to curl up better.

He was almost asleep when he felt something cold and wet slide down his back.

“Aki,” he said, “don't tell me you just spilled red slushie on my yellow shirt.”

“Uhm,” the other boy laughed nervously, “I didn’t just spill red slushie on your yellow shirt?”

\--

They’re big break came one surprisingly warm day in January, in the form of a small man with a speech impediment and more piercings than even Taka had. His name was Seta Hiromichi and he’d spent a small amount of time checking out the local talent. He’d come to three of their shows. He thought they could really “go places”.

He gave them simple instructions. Get a better drummer and pick up another guitarist, then get back to him.

He left them with a business card and tentatively hopeful smiles.

\--

“I’ve never gotten along with my dad,” he said, answering Akira’s question of why he never went home to visit his family, “he and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

Akira shrugged. “I haven’t seen my dad for fifteen years.”

“Really?”

Aki nodded.

They were sitting outside the apartment on the steps, sharing the last cigarette of a pack and huddled close for warmth. Taka was wearing one of Aki’s hats because his own had been ripped to shreds by the dryer a few months ago. He liked Aki’s hat though, it was soft and warm and it wasn’t too big for his head.

“I wonder what my life would have been like without my dad around.”

The bassist shrugged and took a long hit from the cigarette. “It wasn’t really a big thing. My mom had some trouble with money though. My dad wouldn’t help us at all after the divorce. So my mom had to work a lot.”

“My mom didn’t work. Ever.”

“That must have been nice then, right?” Aki passed him the cigarette and blew smoke over their heads. “I mean, you probably got to spend a lot of time with her.”

Taka shook his head. “Mom’s idea of affection is using Dad’s money to buy us things.”

“She must miss you though.”

“Probably,” he conceded, “but I’m sure her life is easier with me gone. I caused a lot of trouble while I was there. She didn’t try to persuade my dad into letting me stay after he kicked me out.”

He didn’t blame her. She’d been good to him while he was there. Though she hadn’t shown it a lot, he knew she’d cared about him. Their relationship hadn’t been perfect, but the two of them had had an agreement at least. He didn’t demand more than she could give, and she didn’t ask too many questions.

That was where his relationship with his father failed. Taka had demanded nothing of the man, but his dad had just kept asking questions Taka wouldn’t answer. And when it had become clear Taka wouldn’t answer, his father had gone prying.

There had been no balance, nothing to keep the two of them level. And Taka had gotten tired of having his mistakes weighed so much heavier than everyone else’s.

“They’ll see one day,” Aki said, shaking him out of his thoughts. “When we’re famous, they’ll have to acknowledge what they missed out on.”

Taka said nothing, but he hoped Akira was right.

He stubbed the cigarette out on the step below him.

\--

It happened that April, disguised in innocent laughter and the softly whispered words of “I’ll follow you wherever you go”. They were alone in the apartment because Kouyou was working late and the only light was that from the television. It cast shadows around the room, dyed their skin an alien blue. And Akira’s hair was so soft between his fingers, lips so pliant beneath his own.

He didn’t mean for it to happen. He didn’t really even know how it had. All he knew was how his stomach flipped when Akira’s tongue slid between his lips, how close the bassist was pressed up against him on the couch.

It had been awhile since he’d really kissed someone, since he’d felt hands sliding up under his shirt. The fabric came off and was tossed to the floor and he sucked at the other’s neck.

He wasn’t inexperienced, but he was less confident in his movements than Akira. The bassist scratched at his back to get him impossibly closer. Aki lay back against the couch cushions and tugged him down as well. He was trapped between the other’s legs and he could feel that Akira was hard through his jeans.

His hands were shaking. They felt too big and clumsy, but he tugged at Akira’s jeans until they came unbuttoned. He reached under the waistband to wrap his hand around the bassist’s cock.

Akira groaned into his shoulder.  
\--

They didn’t talk about it afterward. They just lay on the couch, wrapped around each other, willing their hearts and their breathing to slow. Taka’s mouth tasted like come and he tried to swallow it down, but it didn’t go away. He was sticky where his skin was pressed against Akira’s shirt.

After a few minutes they moved again. They had to get dressed before Kouyou came home. The guitarist wouldn’t appreciate finding his friends half-naked and sprawled across the couch and each other.

They didn’t speak at all for the rest of the day and it suited Taka just fine. He was walking down the steps outside the apartment when Kouyou got off work and told the guitarist he was going to the station. He stayed out until the last train departed.

When he got home, Akira was asleep on the mattress and he curled up beside the bassist.

He hadn’t meant for things to get awkward between them.

\--

He woke to find dark eyes watching him. Akira’s face was inches away from his own on the pillow, but he didn’t scoot back to give himself more space. The bassist must have curled into him sometime during the night because his shirt was sticky with sweat and their legs were tangled together. For some reason, the awkwardness from before seemed to have dissipated.

“I feel like I can tell you anything,” Aki said suddenly, voice metal scraping gravel. He wondered if the other boy was getting sick again. “Even more than Kouyou.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t feel the need to. They were okay now, he understood. They’d both just needed a few hours to process what had happened. Akira was much like himself in that way.

“I don’t want you to think that it didn’t mean anything,” the bassist continued.

“I know,” he said, and when Aki opened his mouth to say more, he pressed their foreheads together, “I know, Aki.”

He did know. It probably wasn’t something they were going to do again, but it had happened. It wasn’t going to pull them apart. If anything, Taka felt closer to the other boy.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked.

“It’s hard. Living like this, working so hard for something that might never happen for us,” Aki explained, “it’s easy to get discouraged. It’s just… nice to know that you don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

He smiled. He knew that too.

The city was white noise around them, but they were silent for a long moment, heads bowed together. Then Aki pulled back enough to look at him again.

“I talked to Kouyou last night, after you left,” he said, “he said he talked to a guy yesterday about being our other guitarist. The guy knows someone else too, a drummer.”

Taka felt his stomach flip, excitement spiking his heart rate. “Yeah? What’s the guys name.”

Aki had to stop and think for a moment. “Shiroyama Yuu.”

-o-

He felt the paradox of being both on top of the world and subjected to its will, straddling the precipice that separates success and failure. He felt this both widely and acutely at the same time, a broad sense of presence, running cold fingertips across his skin just to watch the bumps rise with frightening clarity. He was waiting for his life to fall into place, but he was also waiting for it to fall apart, shattered and scattered and unrecognizable. He had so much life ahead of him, but he also had that much to lose.

He wasn’t so sure about this fame thing anymore.

But the music. The music was there; the music was solid. There were millions of tiny mistakes to be made in his new life, but they seemed infinitesimal in comparison to the music.


End file.
